


Cakes, Flakes, Underbaked

by thatonegreenpencil



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: A little angst, Alternate Universe, Baker Red, Contest Coordinator Green, Fluff, He's just quiet ok, Humor, I love Daisy Oak, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Not mute Red, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, green is a mess, you've never seen an AU like this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19813408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonegreenpencil/pseuds/thatonegreenpencil
Summary: Green's not sure how he went from getting a birthday cake for his sister to pouring out his life story with a baker that barely talks, is shrouded in mystery, and also... kinda attractive. He's pretty sure Yelp is to blame.Baker!Red / Contest Coordinator!Green





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhhhh why do AUs take over my life all the time
> 
> This was literally supposed to be a one-shot but now it's 6,000 words in my google docs and only growing bigger... so I figured I'd just publish the first chapter now before the draft explodes my computer from how much it wants to be known to the world. But tbh if anyone reads I'd be very impressed, because this AU is honestly ridiculous. Like why does Green have a long, angsty backstory. Welp, can't complain when it's writing itself
> 
> Btw, the pokemon world works a bit differently (kids don't leave home when they're ten, for instance) so just keep that in mind! Hope you enjoy, this is a writing exercise type thing so criticism is definitely appreciated!

If his sister is dragging herself and her fiance all the way to Hoenn on _her_ birthday for Green’s sake, he figures the least he can do is buy the cake. 

And dinner, but it won’t be a whole fiasco like the cake is—he’ll just take her to that Hoenn waffle house chain she’s been rambling about this past year, non-stop, ever since she visited on vacation. No extensive research required. But the cake is a more peculiar affair. Not only has he been in Slateport for a total of two weeks, but Green doesn’t touch pastries unless it’s a poffin, and those go in his pokemon's mouth, not his. He does a night’s worth of digging into the best bakeries in Slateport, crossing out ones that are out of his price range or ridiculously flamboyant until he finally stumbles upon a suitable one. Fourth on yelp but first in affordability and—after perusing through badly-lit user submitted photos—attractive cakes. PikaSweets.

The name could be better. But it seems the general population isn’t put off by bad naming conventions, seeing as how the line goes out the door when Green gets there at 2 PM on a Wednesday. Daisy and Bill are slated to come around five, so he wonders, briefly, if he should come back later, but as he turns to leave, Eevee—perched on his shoulder, basking in the sunlight warming her fur—catches the scent of freshly-baked bread and kneads insistent paws on his chest, mewling loudly. Green groans.

“If you get bored waiting in line for twenty minutes, not my problem,” he grumbles. But what the hell, it’s going to be packed even if he chooses to come an hour later, and he walked in the opposite direction of his AirBNB from his photo shoot just so that he could come here, so might as well.

The place really does pride itself on its cakes, it seems. When they finally reach the point in the line where they can go inside, the first thing he sees are the cakes displayed at the front and back of the shop. Sure, there are other, smaller pastries lining the spaces in between, but they’re typical of any bakery. The cakes, on the other hand, are showcased with small, hand-decorated signs advertising “Seasonal cake!” and “Cake of the Day!”. There’s really no reason to single out the cakes, Green thinks. The cakes practically advertise themselves; from intricate cakes resembling pokemon heads and topped with lavish decorations to simpler, everyday cakes that are so perfect they look like something out of a food magazine. And indeed, most patrons are going out of the store with cakes in their hands. 

Once again, the internet has not failed him.

He adjusts the hat on his head. Beads of sweat are forming at the base of his neck from the warmth radiating off all the bodies in the room and the ovens in the back, which the low buzz of the air conditioner does nothing to combat. But slight discomfort is fine, considering the alternative, which is the possibility of everyone in the shop crowding around him for a photograph. Granted, that is the worst case scenario, but considering it’s _Slateport_ —one of the biggest cities in Hoenn and chock-full of contest enthusiasts—he wouldn’t be surprised.

Green’s a little overwhelmed by the number of choices. The counters lining the register contain even _more_ varieties of cakes. The head baker must be some sort of superhuman or they have an army of chefs in the back, because there’s no way a regular bakery could afford to put out this many types of cakes. “Which one, girl?” he murmurs to Eevee, rousing her with a nudge. “You know Daisy, which one would she like?”

She shoots him a look, probably meant to convey something like: _so do you, are you incompetent now?_ Not an uncommon look, but Green loves her enough to suffer through this type of abuse, albeit with much complaining. Her eyes scan the row of cakes once, twice, and then a third time.

“Vui,” she finally says, resolute. Her small paw points to a stout-looking strawberry shortcake, swaddled by ribbons of whipped cream and topped with white chocolate shavings. It reminds Green a lot of Daisy’s summer dresses, flowy and white. 

“Good choice.” He scratches her head, drawing out a pleased purr from the tuft of Eevee’s chest. 

But of course things couldn’t be that easy.

“What do you mean it’ll take three hours?” Green fumes.

The guy at the register seems unfazed by the annoyance practically shooting out of his ears, nor Eevee’s raised haunches and the low hissing coming from her throat. 

“Three and a half.” The cashier shrugs, despite Green’s rising anger.

Green pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s my sister’s birthday and she’s going to be here soon, is there any way to speed it up?”

Although the guy’s look is still uncaring and bland as it was when he first delivered the unfortunate news, something about it now reminds him of Eevee’s classic _are you dumb_ look. He’s very familiar with it, even though more often than not it goes ignored. “No,” the cashier deadpans.

For a guy whose wage is partially composed of tips, he’s not making a great case for himself. He pinches his nose again.

“When are you open till?”

“Six.”

Damn. That’s not enough time. He sighs, his anger whooshing out of his chest and being replaced with defeat. “You don’t have any pre-made cakes?”

The cashier shrugs. That’s a no.

“That’s fine.” Back on the hunt for a bakery. For the first time, Yelp reviews—all of which had promised stellar customer service at PikaSweets—have failed him. “I’ll just go—”

“Eight?” The cashier asks. “And a discount.”

Green blinks. The cashier’s red eyes remain steady, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Eight what?”

“Come at eight. Hundred pokedollars.”

That’s less than the cost of a potion. It’s a complete bargain. Extremely tantalizing, considering the all-you-can-eat deal at the waffle place is going to bite a hefty chunk out of his wallet. Eight. Dinner should be done by eight, that’s plenty of time for him to make an excuse to sneak away and pick it up. He’s not quite sure if cashiers are normally allowed to hand out discounts on a whim, but he’ll have it in writing in the form of a receipt if someone objects later. “That’s a deal.”

“Name?”

There’s no avoiding this one. He leans close and whispers, “Green Oak. But the cake is for Daisy Oak.”

Not even a trace of recognition on the cashier’s face. Not even a hint of surprise. Green’s a little offended. He hasn’t been in the contest scene for long compared to the famous contest legends, sure, but enough so that he’s been a regular on tabloid covers for months and made multiple appearances on PokeTV’s _Late Night_ show. “Green Oak?” he tries again. The cashier just nods and points to where he’s written it down on a pikachu-shaped sticky note. Not everyone can be up to date on pop culture, Green supposes.

As he’s reaching for his wallet to pay, Eevee lets out a delighted squeal and points in the direction of a jar of pokemon-shaped cookies. Green sees why: somewhere amidst the pile of treats is an Eevee head, its ear poking out between the arm of a Chikorita tail and a Bidoof foot. Green doesn’t quite want to think about the psychological implications of his Eevee wanting to eat its own head, nor the implications of him giving into every single one of her demands like this. He supposes it can be seen as a good thing: part of the reason she does so well in contests is because she’s a diva at heart.

The cashier speaks up as he reaches for the treat. “Not for pokemon,” he says, and even sounds sorry as he says it. Eevee’s ears droop. 

“Stop being so whiny, I’ll buy you some poffins tomorrow,” he promises. Usually he’d buy it for her anyway, meant for pokemon be damned, but they have a contest the day after tomorrow and she really can’t be performing with an upset stomach. Eevee mews, disappointed, because she knows poffins aren’t the same. Green scratches her head. 

The cashier takes his money in silence with no parting farewell as Green turns to leave. By the time he gets back to his hotel to change clothes and freshen up, any thoughts of the cashier are gone from his mind.

* * *

Dinner is a resounding success, as expected. Despite some uncomfortable hiccups (comprised entirely of questions relating to home and their grandfather, who Green hasn’t spoken to in a year despite Daisy’s constant prodding), the conversation flows freely and smoothly, punctuated by the delicious piles of waffles placed upon them. 

He’s never interacted with Bill more than a few minutes at a time, but they get along well. His doctorate thesis about different forms of evolution, in particular, is fascinating.

“A true academic by blood,” Bill declares, clinking their glasses together. He sounds like an echo of Gramps, prompting Green to direct the conversation elsewhere.

It’s seven when they leave the restaurant. He shoves his hotel key into Daisy’s hand and makes up some excuse about his agent needing some papers and whatnot before heading directly towards the bakery. Eevee pads alongside him, stuffed with her fair share of waffles.

The door is locked and the sign says closed, but there are trickles of light from underneath the door. He raps his knuckles against the wood, and waits.

The one who opens the door is not a hearty baker with a thick mustache and chef’s hat, as he’d somehow expected, but a Pikachu who looks strikingly similar to the ‘Pikachu cake’ he saw displayed in the storefront. The owner’s, Green assumes. 

“Yo,” he greets. Sparks of lightning dance on Pikachu’s cheeks. Before Green can decide to interpret it as a greeting or a warning, Pikachu darts back inside, almost shutting the door behind it if it weren’t for Green’s foot in the door. He hisses, foot throbbing, and hobbles his way inside. Eevee mewls at him, that familiar _look_ in her eyes.

“You’d be complaining if it was _your_ foot,” he mumbles, but scratches her ears anyway because he’s weaker than he wants to admit. A sweet aroma is wafting from the kitchen. Eevee slips through his fingers, trailing after it, no hesitation as she darts behind the counter into territory unknown and off-limits. Green does hesitate, because he’s a member of society with some sense of… well, sense, but he has no choice but to trail behind her.

When he sees the cashier, his first thought is: _wow, I can’t believe this guy’s here working this late cleaning the floor._

His second thought, coming embarrassingly late after he takes in the mittens on his hand, and the tray of delicious-smelling cookies he’s holding, and the apron on his waist (that hang just right around the guy’s hips—and if he’s being honest, his eyes _might’ve_ lingered here longer than necessary). 

_No, you idiot, he’s the fucking_ baker _._

With this realization comes a flood of embarrassment, and with embarrassment comes the tingling sensation of _awkward._ Green Oak is not _awkward_ by any means, but then he realizes he’s been staring at this guy for longer than socially acceptable. No, he can save this. A witty one-liner to save it and it’s clear skies from there. He opens his mouth.

“Um.”

Nope. There’s no saving this. S.O.S.

The guy’s expression is as deadpan as it was six hours ago, but a twitch of his lips betray his amusement. Green is mortified. “Um,” he says again like an idiot, and mentally slaps himself the moment after. “Eevee came in here, I was looking for her—” He shouldn’t have even opened his mouth because she’s clearly right there in front of him, purring and rubbing herself up against the baker’s legs in an oxymoronic subtle-yet-obvious ploy to snag some of those freshly-baked cookies. “Guess you found her first.”

Green glares at her. She blinks back, the image of pure innocence.

The guy sets the tray down on the counter and reaches to scratch Eevee’s head, a slight smile still tugging at his lips. Then, he points to the other counter on the far side. There sits an exact replica of the cake Eevee picked out hours before with the exception of ‘Happy Birthday, Daisy’ written in delicate strings of chocolate, packaged in a clear plastic box. 

“Wow.” Green blinks. “So… you the owner of this place?”

A nod. Stern, serious, 100-percent business.

“The owner _and_ the cashier?”

“Sick today. I took over. Only baked the popular cakes the night before. That’s why…”

“This one was late,” Green finishes for him, because the guy seems to be struggling for words. “Must not be very popular, this one?”

Shrug. “Not _not_ popular. Just special.”

“Special. Huh.” He takes another glance at it, its intricate decorations with not one piece of frosting out of place. “Well, I’ll let my sis know she’s getting a very _special_ cake.” Green grins. The guy blinks. “Thanks, really appreciate you staying late and everything. Her fiance probably would’ve had some _words_ for me if I’d got her some generic, grocery store cake. He’s like a protective Ursaring, I tell you.” 

When Green moves to take the cake, he holds up a hand in a clear indication of _stop._ Then the Pikachu from before jumps onto the counter out of nowhere with clear, plastic baggie in his hands and hands it to (presumably) his trainer. 

Said trainer tosses him a cookie from the tray—Eevee-head shaped biscuits, the same ones from the counter. Then, to Green’s alarm ,he tosses one to Eevee as well, who immediately snaps it up with a content purr.

“Hey, I thought you said those weren’t for pokemon!” Green watches in horror as the last of the crumbs are licked away. He can already imagine her stomachache she’ll be dealing with in the morning. “You can’t just give my pokemon whatever—stuff!”

Then, in a move Green would never have seen coming, a cookie is hurled at his head. From halfway across the room. Who knew baking could produce such forearm strength? Green manages to catch it before it smacks him entirely (thank you Gyrados, and his random thrashing that’s made Green an expert at dodging unexpected projectiles). Slowly, Green takes a bite. It’s warm, and gooey, and _delicious._

“Dude, how are you only _fourth_ on Yelp?’

“No dairy,” the baker says—ignoring Green’s question entirely—and pops one into his own mouth. He scoops a handful from the tray into the plastic baggie, ties it up, and tosses it, again, at Green, but with less force so that it sails in a graceful arc and lands neatly into his hand. “For Eevee.” Eevee’s purrs get louder. Suck up. Pikachu either shares Green’s sentiment or is just jealous, but the mouse pokemon takes a rather aggressive bite out of another Eevee head. Green takes that as their cue to leave.

“Well, you really went above and beyond for us, and I’m anything but an ungrateful guy so, I’ll be sure to leave a five-star review on Yelp? Even though, you know, you literally threw something at a customer’s head.” 

The guy shrugs, non-apologetic and giving no indication he cares or even knows what Yelp is. His brain must be made out of bread. Yes, that must be it.

“I really do appreciate it, it’s going to be the show-stopper. My sister’s gonna go nuts,” he keeps babbling, just to fill the silence. He gestures to Eevee who dashes over immediately; either her hunger is sated or she also caught sight of the not-so-subtle symbolism of Pikachu gnawing at her cookie replica.

“Let me know. Green Oak.” There’s a certain tone to the way the other says his name, a slight lilt. 

Green gapes. “I _knew_ you knew who I am!” he blurts.

“It’s Slateport.” The guy’s lips twitch into a slight smile. It’s a nice smile. “Ask for Red. If you come around.”

Green’s heart does a—thing. Something. He doesn’t want to dwell on it, not when he _feels_ his ears going hot. “Cool, Red? Red. I’ll come around again, depending on this cake. Not that I’m doubting your skills—do you even know this place is the third highest-rated bakery in all of Slateport? And, I think it’s a ten out of ten from Eevee here—” she mewls in agreement, “and she’s a picky little princess, so. High expectations.” 

Arceus, he’s doing the rambling thing again. “Alright, thanks again. Sm—uh, see ya around.”

He’s basically tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get out of PikaSweets, and hopes that the feeling of Red’s eyes on him the whole way is just his imagination.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cue lots of sibling bonding times starring: Green and Daisy Oak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are so sweet, I was floored at the enthusiasm in the comments like wow?? I never expected this nonsensical, self-indulgent AU to receive any sort of attention so it's very flattering! On the bright side: this fic is currently finished! Unless my wild brain decides to add a whole chapter in the editing process, this fic will be 5 chapters long, probably updating every couple days. But I was so excited about finishing it that I decided to upload this chapter now lol
> 
> Wow, I haven't finished a multi-chapter fic in years. Maybe I should do it more often -looks at multitude of unfinished fic, sweats- Anyway, hope you enjoy! Feedback is loved and appreciated :)

It’s no secret within the contest circles that Green Oak is gay. It is a fact that he’s politely asked (with Eevee glaring from his shoulder the whole time) everyone to keep under wraps from the general public, not only because the tabloids are fixated on his life as it is (he doesn’t mind the attention, but when they turn derogatory—as they tend to do with matters regarding sexuality, Wallace had told him as much—it becomes more than just annoying), but he’s sure it’d make his grandfather criticize his life decisions past the point of Green’s own sanity. Someone would be punched. Maybe himself.

Daisy’s the first person he told, ever. He still owes her a lot: she offered him her time, her patience, and her shoulder to cry on. He wants to be good to her. He does.

But some things, he can’t. Even if he wanted to.

“I’m not coming to Pallet.”

“You’ll be in Kanto for a whole _year!”_

Bill, who is drunk on cake and soda and passed out on the couch, lets out a loud snore. Daisy glances at her fiance (eyes soft) and lowers her voice to an agitated whisper. “Green, you can’t just pretend that he doesn’t exist—”

“He’s fine with pretending _I_ don’t exist—”

“And you’re both so deaf when it comes to talking to each other—”

“Well maybe if the conversation didn’t blow up every time we speak even a _word_ to each other—”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Daisy cries. Bill snorts again, and rolls over. This time, she hurdles on. “You guys don’t even want to _listen._ I know Green, I _know_ he hurt you, a _lot,_ but I just—we can’t even have a nice family dinner together and my _wedding_ is coming up, is this what you’re going to do then?”

“Just don’t invite him.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Her voice becomes soft. “I’m sorry, Green, I know it’s hard. But I don’t—” Her breath hitches. Green thinks his breath does the same. “I don’t—I don’t want to see our—our family broken apart again.” 

There’s a tense silence. 

“Plus, think of how it could help your project for contest integration in Kanto. His connections—”

“Absolutely not.” Green is fuming. The rational part of himself knows she means it in the best way, but that’s the last thing he wants: having to crawl back to Gramps for help only to be met with scorn, having to face words like: ‘I knew it’d be too much for you to handle, Green.’ “If you haven’t noticed, _sis,_ you _and_ Gramps doubted that I could ever make a living out of this, and here I am, top five contest coordinators in Hoenn. And you still think I need—” He almost says ‘your,’ but stops himself just in time. “— _his_ help. I don’t know what more I have to do to prove myself to you guys. Am I ever going to be an adult to you? _Responsible?_ ”

“You’re my younger brother,” Daisy says softly. “I just worry. It’s amazing, the things you’ve done, but it’s a lot in a short time, for anyone. It’s not a bad thing to ask for help, if it’s too much.”

“It’s a bad thing if I ask _him._ ” Green doesn’t think of the hundred-or-so unread emails from the Contest league sitting in his inbox, the piles of paperwork he’s shoved under the bed where Daisy can’t see. “I’m _fine._ A couple of the other coordinators are helping me, and the Kanto league’s told me they want to contribute. Aren’t you proud of me, sis? Years of you telling me to get off my ass and take responsibility is amounting to something _huge.”_

“I am proud. Of course I’m proud. But you’re barely twenty.”

“And you’re not my mom.”

Daisy sighs. She seems older in the dim light, as the shadows cast creases in the lines of her face.

Green leans forward. “Everything okay with you and Bill? You seem good, but if there’s anything—”

“If you threaten to kick my fiance’s ass, I swear, Green.” Her eyes twinkle. “Everything’s been great. Wedding planning is tough and a lot of stress—so many things to keep track of, you’d love it—” (Green snorts) “—but we’re trying to cut down as much work as possible. Bill’s so busy with his research that a big wedding would really hurt his thesis proposition. He works so hard.” The last part is said with a sigh.

“You deserve a guy that works hard for you. Although, I guess if they lazed around you’d kick them into gear pretty quick. Attesting from personal experience.”

“And now look what you’ve become. A dashing, famous, snarky young man.”

“Yeah, you did great raising me.”

Daisy flashes him a wide smile. “Now you just need to find an equally dashing, famous, snarky guy.”

Green snorts. “My clone? I think we’d murder each other pretty quick, just so we could stop listening to the sound of our own voices.”

“Yet, more times than not, you’re more than happy to let _other_ people suffer through your never-ending rambling.”

“Hey, if other people are listening, I’m not suffering alone.” He grins, dodging the almost-noogie she gives him. “Seriously though, I’m taken.”

Daisy’s eyes grow wide.

“Who?”

“By Eevee.”

Another knuckle to his head. This time, it lands.

“Hey, just telling the truth! She’s everything to me. All my pokemon are. A worthy harem.”

She makes a face. “Don’t even joke about that! You don’t know what’s out there on the internet—it’s really, really, gross. You’re gross.”

Green snickers. He’s missed this. The contest life—while an exciting rollercoaster of continual media exposure, gets a little lonely. His only human interaction for months has been with either interviewers, contest judges, or acquaintances via digital communication or through small talk exchanged in passing.

Daisy huffs. “Seriously, you really don’t have anyone? Mr. Most eligible bachelor in the contest scene?”

Stupid tabloids. “You think I would’ve been hiding it if I did? I’m hurt.”

“I think you’re an _idiot_ sometimes, that’s why. But no, I don’t think you’d be hiding it. But you deserve to live a little, Green.”

“I _am_ living. My best life, actually.”

“Just—when the chance comes, don’t let it go, you know? Just because you’re afraid of what people will say. What—” She hesitates. “What grandpa would say.”

Green tenses. He sees the immediate apology on her lips, and waves it away. “I’m not going to explode at the first mention of his name.” Even though he does, sometimes. Daisy looks very doubtful. “And I won’t. I’m still in my rebellious phase, and I’m past worrying about his opinion.”

She gives him a long stare. “I wish that was true, for your sake. But, if there is a guy, promise you’ll introduce us, won’t you?”

Now that’s a promise he can keep.

* * *

It happens sooner than he would’ve thought. 

The contest is a smashing success. The crowd roars as Alakazam finishes the round—and his opponent—with a psybeam that floods the stage with a dazzling array of light. Green’s beaming himself, a dopamine high that lasts all the way to the podium as he and his pokemon stand on the first place platform with Master Ribbons pinned proudly to their chests.

He slips past the media crew, only to be tackled by Daisy in a bone-crushing hug. It’s the first time she’s seen a contest live. While she admits it’s not her thing (she prefers watching regular sports, like tennis; unsurprisingly, it’s Bill who continues to ramble about move manipulation for the sake of aesthetics and whether that decreases the move’s power, etc.), she still appreciates the moment for what it is and calls for a celebration. The first place Green thinks to propose is PikaSweets.

“The place I got your cake from,” he explains.

“I was thinking more along the lines of dinner, but we can get cake? I didn’t think you were much of a pastry person.”

“We can do cake _and_ dinner,” Bill pipes up. There’s unanimous agreement there, and in good spirits, they head to the bakery.

Surprisingly, there’s not much of a line at PikaSweets today. (Green wonders if the line from the other day was caused purely because Red had been acting as the cashier, considering the guy seems to have zero sense of customer service.)

“Take off your stupid hat,” Daisy says as Bill pours over the cakes in the display case. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“It’s my _disguise,_ ” Green protests. “Do you want us to get bombarded by fans?”

“You’re not _that_ famous,” she replies, showing once again how little she knows about the contest scene. But, seeing as how the store isn’t _that_ busy, he complies.

The girl at the register greets them with a well-practice smile. A paragon of customer service. A name tag— _Leaf,_ it says—is pinned neatly at her chest. “Can I help you?”

“Could we get three glasses of iced green tea, uh, that—” he gestures to a mocha cake Bil is jabbing at through the glass, “—and a bag of biscuits? That pokemon can eat.”

“Sure. You’re Green, right?” Before Green can stammer out a reply, she places a bag of Eevee-shaped biscuits on the counter. “Red said that you might come in today and left these for you.”

“How much?”

“The biscuits are on the house! As for the others…”

As Leaf is rattling off the total, out of the corner of the corner of his eye Green sees Daisy narrow her eyes.

“Who’s Red?” comes the inevitable question, not seconds after they’ve settled into a spot near the window. 

“The store owner,” Green says, hoping he sounds flippant. “We got to talking a little bit when I came to pick up your cake.”

“Must’ve been a lot of talking, if he’s already giving you stuff.”

“He’s a fantastic baker,” Bill says, mouth stuffed with cake. “Daisy, you have to try some.”

After taking a bite at her fiance’s insistence and sparing Green a moment of relief, she dives right back into interrogation mode. “Is he cute?”

“Well, he’s—how am I supposed to know?”

Like a Houndoom catching a scent, Daisy whips her head around towards the kitchen. “Is that him?”

It is. 

“He’s cute!”

She says it very loudly. Green wants to die.

He can’t look at Red when he comes to their table, giving them all a little wave. He _knows_ his entire face is red (from embarrassment at being overheard, not—something else). “Hey Red,” he mutters.

“Red, great to meet you!” Daisy gives him a brilliant smile, all traces of interrogation mode gone. “I’m Daisy, Green’s sister. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Which is not true, but when Red sends a curious glance his way, he _sees_ what his sister is doing and hates that she’s so _smart._

After Daisy (and Bill, occasionally and between bites of cake) pour praises onto the cake they had the other day, Red departs with a small smile and another wave.

“I don’t need you playing wingman,” Green grumbles once Red is clear from view.

“Clearly, you do,” Daisy huffs. “That was pretty weak, Green. You barely talked!”

“I was caught off-guard! And I met the guy _two days ago._ _"_

“You just have to go for it, Green,” Bill pipes in. “Let me tell you, when I met Daisy, I’d just come out of the lab after an accident, covered in chemicals and a complete _mess_ when I recognized her from our biology class, we’d never talked—”

And that’s how Green gets a whole lecture on the fundamentals of dating by the man who is marrying his sister. Overall, a strange day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green and Red have a very one-sided heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really blown away by your support, y'all, you don't even know. Like, all your comments?? 46 kudos????? It makes my heart warm to see the Green/Red fandom is alive and well. Makes me feel bad that I didn't upload this sooner - I have no excuse, really, I just... forgot. But enjoy a slightly longer segment than last time! Also, more Green angst. Because I'm the one writing this.

That night, around eight and after seeing off Daisy and Bill at the train station (heading off to Lavaridge for a two-day hot springs stay before flying back home), he goes to PikaSweets carrying a box of chocolates from Kanto (one of two that Daisy’d given him). 

Eevee is once again his companion for the night. She’s already sensed where they’re going and is running ahead excitedly at the promise of more treats, never mind that she’s had many Eevee head biscuits a few hours before. Green likes to think he doesn’t spoil her often.

“Anyone there?” Green calls, rapping his knuckles against the door. Once again, it’s Pikachu who opens the door. Seems he hadn’t forgotten their last visit. “Pika pii,” he warns, narrowing his eyes at both of them with cheeks sparking. Eevee tosses her head to the side with a huff.

Red doesn’t seem to notice the two of them (three, including Pikachu, walking far enough away to assume non-association) enter the kitchen. He’s not alone tonight; a Venusaur stands at the far side of the kitchen, multiple counters rolled away to accommodate the hulking, green beast. Green watches in fascination as it wields multiple piping bags in its tentacles, frosting multiple sugar roses at the same time with an insane level of precision. Red is busy whisking some sort of pale mixture.

“You’re a real busy Beedrill.”

Red starts, splattering some of the mixture onto his face. Green snickers, then laughs when Red directs a bewildered look at him. “Pokemon over people, huh?” He gives a wave towards Venusaur, who holds up a vine in reply. “Although that doesn’t explain the late hours.”

“Head start.” Red says, wiping his face with his sleeve. “At 6, I bake the pastries.”

“Yikes, not very glamorous.”

“I like it.” There’s more feeling in those three words than Green’s heard in Red’s voice so far. “Working with bread. And pokemon.” The smile he directs at Venusaur makes Green’s heart do a thing. A fluttery thing. “You’d know.”

“Yeah, I love my guys. Anyway, the reason I’m here—”

“Tell me about your pokemon.”

Green blinks. Red is pouring the mixture slowly into a pan, scraping the sides, not looking up—but he wants to have a conversation. He’s trying. “Um, okay. I can do that.”

So he does. He tells Red about his team: Pidgeot, Gyrados, Rhydon, Alakazam, Arcanine, and Eevee. He brags about their strengths, talks about their personalities, recounts the good times, complains about the bad ones. He mentions their weird quirks: how Pidgeot always pecks berries in half before eating them, how Arcanine likes licking the top of his head after a win, how Alakazam insists on stainless-steel spoons, how Eevee hates being in a pokeball. At the last point, Red—who’s been listening to his rambling for quite a while without a single word—nods in understanding and says, “Pikachu, too.”

“I could imagine.” Pikachu seems too feisty to contain in a pokeball. He checks the time and—shit. It’s ten. “I’ve gotta run, didn’t realize how late it was and I have a conference call tomorrow morning—oh wait, here. This is why I came.” 

He pulls out the box of chocolate that’s been in his hand for ages and puts it on the counter. “It’s chocolate from Kanto, it was from my sister but I have an extra box, just as a thank you for spoiling Eevee here so much.” At some point during his babbling she’s curled up on the counter and fallen asleep. He’s careful to scoop her up as carefully as possible—she stirs, but doesn’t wake. 

“You really love her.” Red, also at some point during his babbling, has finished putting everything in the oven and sat himself on a stool closer to Green. Green can feel the warmth of Red’s hand ghost over his arm as he reaches over to pet her head.

“It’s hard not to, she’s a greedy one. Catches your heart and doesn’t let go.” Green’s sure a really gooey expression passes over his face for a split second. He’s quick to wipe it away before Red can see. “Why ask about my pokemon, anyway?”

“Pokemon say a lot about the trainer.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me about your pokemon too, then.” Green says without really thinking about it. Red stares at him like he’s never heard a wilder concept.

“Really?”

“Why not?”

Red’s smile stretches a mile wide.

“I’ll show them to you."

* * *

It’s around two weeks before it happens. But Green still comes into the shop every couple days, right at eight, sometimes to chat but to watch Red work. Whatever Red loses from his minimal amount of speech he makes up tenfold with actions—a flick of the eye there, a wave of the hand here. Green even gets into the habit of bringing his work and just listening to Red knead dough or mold cakes. 

Slowly, he comes to understand Red without words. He learns through the way Red will gesture to whichever pokemon he’s employed that day (usually Venusaur or Machamp) and they’ll do it without hesitation. It’s entrancing. pokemon researchers have searched for decades if there is a method of communication through which humans and pokemon can communicate their intentions fully to one another. In his twenty-something years of life, Red has conquered that barrier with ease. The more Green comes to be in awe of this, the more he itches to see Red and his pokemon outside the bakery in pure human-to-pokemon interaction.

Red, it appears, has shared the same sentiment. One night, before he’s even knocked on the door, Red bursts through with pokeballs in hand. 

“That excited to see me?” Green jokes. Red’s one-track mind doesn’t register the joke at all, and doesn’t register how red Green’s face gets when Red grabs him by the wrist and drags him to the back of the bakery. 

It’s a nice green space amidst the concrete jungle, the grass a yellow-green beneath the dim colors of the streetlamps. About as big as any suburban garden, Green would presume. 

But what starts out as a good-sized area becomes laughably small as Red’s pokemon are tossed out one-by-one: Venusaur, Snorlax, Machamp, Charizard, and Blastoise. They roar at Green in greeting (the noise is drowned out by the hustle and bustle of Slateport—a good thing, considering they’re in a relatively residential part of the city), stretching their limbs and roaming around the lawn. 

Green is scandalized.

“These are—you know these aren’t your everyday Pidgey, right? These are rare, hard-to-train pokemon!” And high-leveled, too; not only are they all in their final stage of evolution, but a quick glance at their height, the length of their claws, the aged scratches on some of their skins reveals much. “You’ve been hiding something from me.” 

It’s not possible to discern someone’s past from body language alone. So his confusion’s justified—or Green’s just not at that level yet. He’s even more confused at Red’s reaction, which is to just shrug and smile. 

Red looks happier than Green’s ever seen him. They’re his pokemon, but Red treats them like old friends he’s catching up with, running his fingers over their fur, patting their shoulders and backs, giving them a certain look, the same one he gives Green when he neglects to come in for more than three days. There are missing pieces here.

But if Red doesn’t want to divulge, Green knows there’s no pushing him. His hands go to his own belt.

There’s a similar chorus of pokemon cries when Green’s pokemon are released. There’s barely any green space for them to move about, but it doesn’t prevent the bustling that follows as the two groups move to greet one another, sniffing about curiously, the sound of rustling paws punctuated with the occasional nuzzle or growl. Red is just as curious as the rest of his pokemon but keeps a distance, understanding that this is a ritual that leaves no room for humans.

“Why contests?” Red asks, when the noise has calmed. The pokemon have now split into separate groups—preening, exploring, indulging in other pokemon free-time activities. He and Red are leaning against the wall of PikaSweets. The night is late. But not late enough to prevent Green from hesitating.

But what the hell. “You ever heard of Professor Oak? Guy in Kanto, super famous for inventing the Pokedex?” Red nods. “Well, I’m his grandson. Dunno if you guessed already. But because of that, he was really pushing me to follow in his footsteps, take up his lab—and you know what? It was fine at first, work wasn’t terrible, he had me working there from when I was fourteen—definitely kind of some labor law violation, but whatever—and I liked working with the pokemon. And some of the stuff was interesting. And he was proud of me.” 

Green doesn’t realize a lump had formed in his throat. He swallows it. “Gramps was proud. It felt good, ‘specially because when I got a hundred on a test or whatever, no one gave a damn—it wasn’t anyone’s fault, Daisy was busy juggling taking care of me and high school, and Gramps was—well, all of us get too old to be impressed with some middle-schooler’s math scores at some point. And maybe I grew up too fast, because I stopped being impressed too. But when I was working in the lab? It felt good.” Green scuffs his heel against the ground. “Didn’t last long, that. I think when I was sixteen? Gramps started yelling at me way more often. Saying I was messing things up. Saying I wasn’t made for this. Saying I had only two years until university and I was slacking off, even though I was busting my ass working for him every day after school, five hours, no skips. For nothing except his approval and five dollars an hour.

“One day, it hit me. I was never going to be enough for him, right? I had a full roster of pokemon at that point because of how Gramps made me catch them—except Eevee, but that’s another story—so I thought up this grand scheme to prove myself to him in a way he’d _never_ be able to deny it: dip out from Pallet. Challenge the League. Win, become champion. Profit.” Green snorts. “Well, we both see how well that turned out—not because I actually tried it! It didn’t work out because Kanto requires you to be eighteen to challenge the gym, and I wasn’t going to sit on my ass for two more years in his forsaken lab just waiting for time to pass. Then, I found out that you only have to be sixteen in Hoenn. So after leaving a note so Gramps wouldn’t call the police—I still wonder what would’ve happened if he thought I’d been kidnapped, nothing, probably—I got the first ferry to Hoenn. And I landed here, in Slateport. Funny, huh?” Red doesn’t seem to think it’s funny at all, but it’s hard to gauge the guy’s humor. 

“I’d blown all my money on the ferry ticket and desperate for cash, when I saw there was a contest hall. I entered a normal rank contest with Eevee for a quick buck and, lo and behold, I actually won. So I did it again with another pokemon. And again. It was the first time in a long time I felt any sort of gratification from something that wasn’t Gramps. So when I climbed the ranks fast enough to make it onto some random Kanto newspaper and got a very outraged call from Gramps, I could care less. Hung up on him five minutes into his tirade and haven’t looked back since.”

He’s been avoiding looking directly at Red the whole time he’s been rambling, but when nothing but a prolonged silence follows his last word, he’s forced to turn his gaze to Red to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep. Not that he’d blame the guy if he has.

He’s almost taken aback at how _intense_ Red’s gaze is. Piercing, even. “I didn’t make it weird,” Green says, because there’s no way that gaze could indicate anything but scrutiny. “I have a lot of funny stories from when I was just starting out, like the time I entered Eevee for the ‘Tough’ contests because I thought it didn’t matter—but the other contestants were _terrified_ of her—”

“You’re brave.”

“What?” he asks, story screeching to a halt. “All that and _that’s_ what you have to say?”

Red inclines his head.

“I don’t know, I was expecting, like—that sucks Green. Really sorry Green. You should try talking to your grandpa, Green.” All things Daisy says on the regular or has said in the past. Those are the only examples he has, and the only ones he’s come to expect.

Red frowns. Not a thoughtful frown, like when he’s pouring over a particularly hard cake design. Not a concerned frown, like when Eevee accidentally knocked over the flour that one time and was white, head-to-toe. No, this frown could only be described as an angry frown. Not angry _at_ Green. Angry _for_ him.

There’s something chilling—thrilling—about that. Green is strangely flattered.

“You shouldn’t do anything.”

“If I was really brave, I think I would try talking to him.”

Red shakes his head, resolute. “It’s not your job. And it doesn’t make you braver than you already are.”

Green blinks. A lot. To save himself from insurmountable embarrassment, he mutters ‘Allergies,’ and swipes at his eyes for the next two minutes.

“When’d you start waxing poetry?”

Red shrugs. “Since I started hanging out with you.”

“Well, you certainly know the way to a guy’s heart.”

It’s out of his mouth before he can process it. And once he’s processed it, Green is ready for the earth to open up beneath him and take him into its sweet embrace. That is, if he doesn’t spontaneously combust first. From how much his face is heating up, it’ll be a close call.

He suddenly registers the sensation of a warm body pressing up against his side. He forces himself not to jump away, partly because he’s watched enough dramas with Daisy to know the various types of miscommunication that could result from such an action. He definitely is not opposed to this.

But Green feels he should, at the very least, react in some sort of way. Confusion is the first emotion that springs to mind.

“Um—”

“Cold,” Red says, and doesn’t move. 

And Green—tomato-red, heart beating a thousand miles per minute and all-too aware of Red’s steady breaths rattling through his body, how their hands are barely touching, hovering beside one another like two Taillows in a mating dance—

Green doesn’t move, either.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally, it's Red's time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all your support!!! I feel like a broken record at this point, but I do mean it with my whole heart every time. This chapter is I think a little shorter than the others (it's all just one big google doc that I broke into chapters so I have no way of knowing) but filled with lots of stuff to think about! Also fluff. Because of course.
> 
> Next time: last chapter. Hope you enjoy :)

They don’t talk about it.

Yes, they are acting like complete high schoolers right now and yes, actual communication would be a good tool to utilize in a situation as weird as this one. But the thing is, Red doesn’t really  _ do _ communication, and Green’s newfound talent is dancing around the big question of  _ are they dating _ using every other irrelevant topic out there. 

Does it need words anyway? Green’s starting to lean heavily towards  _ no. _ Red doesn’t need words to start coming over to his place on the weekend, towing along at least one or two pokemon to roam around Green’s living space. Doesn’t need words to ask if it’s okay to throw himself into Green’s life and make a place for himself there. He just does it. But the most surprising development is the growth of Eevee and Pikachu’s relationship. Despite their rocky start, they’re basically inseparable now. The moment they lay eyes on each other they’re already scampering off, delving into their own world of exploration. 

What Green learns is that Red is actually extremely, spectacularly—lazy. The fire he possesses in the kitchen—hyper-focused, frosting cakes for hours on end without breaks—is completely extinguished in Green’s living room. It may as well be a Slaking coming over every weekend, not a living, functional human being. He’s gotten into the habit of leaving the door unlocked for Red on Friday nights so that he can sleep in on Saturdays. It’s no longer a shock when he wakes up and finds Red snoozing on the couch, probably having gotten no sleep the night before. The only thing that rouses him is the smell of eggs on the pan or a pillow thrown at his face around noon.

A month before he’s set to leave for Kanto, Green stops participating in contests and TV appearances to focus on the final round of logistics and fine-tuning he needs to settle in Hoenn. Most of the work that’s left is paperwork, so many weekdays (and weekends, while Red is still snoozing) are spent in the dining room or Red’s bakery, filling out blank lines until his hand cramps up. As his pokemon get more and more restless, he also creates the habit of dragging Red out of the bakery kitchen or Green’s living room couch to go on a walk of the nearby routes. Red’s pokemon seem to enjoy it as much as his own team, so it’s a win-win situation (even for Red; as grumpy as he is initially, he appears to enjoy being in the presence of nature more than the bustling cityscape). 

But that leads Green to the biggest problem of all. Leaving Hoenn.

He’s told Red a couple times what all the fuss is about, with the paperwork and the conference calls and all that. But he’s conveniently skipped over the part of having to physically leave for Kanto to oversee operations. 

Green is also trying to deny it to himself. It’s been a while since he’s been in one place this long, and it’s been even longer since he’s regularly seen someone—even just as a friend. The rhythm him and Red share—their overlapping days, the shared moments, the familiarity—is nice. 

He doesn’t want to leave.

It’s a quiet night at the bakery. Eevee is happily munching on leftover pastries with Pikachu at her side. Green is doing the same a table away, and doesn’t look up when Red joins him a while later. 

They sit for a while, Green pouring over registration sheets while Red quietly sips at a cup of tea, soaking in the other’s presence without basking in it. After another while, Green shuts his laptop, rows of Excel sheets burned into the back of his eyelids.

“I’m done,” he declares, pushing away his laptop until it’s barely within reach. “Never touching another spreadsheet again. My nightmares are going to be filled with functions if I keep going.”

A smile tugs as Red’s lips as he pushes another pastry towards Green. He groans. “You really want me to die young of diabetes, don’t you?” he says, despite reaching to shove it in his mouth. Then, he pushes one towards Red. “Eat up, I’m not going to die alone here.”

Red rolls his eyes, but takes a pastry anyways. He eats it much more elegantly, taking small, nibbling bites, not unlike his Pikachu. 

“You’re basically a pokemon,” Green comments. He only realizes it’s a non sequitur when Red stares. “I mean the way you act. You’re so in-tune with them—in the kitchen, when you’re eating—you don’t say a single word, and they still  _ know.  _ I’m not criticizing your life choices—you know I’ve gotten enough of that for a lifetime to inflict it on anyone else—but I just want to know why. Why not be, I dunno, a pokemon trainer? You’re carrying around a pretty hefty team, I’m sure you could steamroll at least a couple gyms, even if your pokemon haven’t trained in a while.”

Red tenses for a millisecond, and then relaxes, as if coming upon a decision. “I tried,” he whispers. “I did.”

“What?”

“Gym badges. Eight.” 

Green’s eyes bulge out of his head.  _ “What?” _

The thing is, it makes sense. Why Red’s pokemon seem ridiculously strong. Why they’re so in sync. But the leap from having eight gym badges to running a  _ bakery, _ of all things, in Slateport doesn’t add up. 

Red seems to guess the question on his lips. “There was pressure. Leaders told me to challenge the Elite Four. That there were great things for me. That the champion was waiting for me.” Red shakes his head. “I didn’t care about the champion. Didn’t care about the title. But the pressure kept going. I just wanted to be with my pokemon. So I left.”

“What, you ran away to a mountain somewhere?”

“Thought about it,” Red says, smiling a bit. “To be with my pokemon in peace. Isolated. But for what? Didn’t see a point. So I wandered around for a bit. Met Leaf. She had eight badges and felt the same thing. She had a place in Slateport. Bought the bottom floor of the building, made it into a bakery.”

“Why a bakery?” Green prods.

“It was that or a PokeMart. But I learned baking from my mom, thought it was fun. Made a menu. Leaf’s bad at it.” Green snorts at Red’s exasperated tone. “But she’s good at managing and with people. 

“So you’re going to be a baker for the rest of your life?”

Red shrugs. The possibility of being stuck in a kitchen the rest of his life doesn’t appear to bother him. "If my pokemon are fine with it. I feel bad.”

“Why not make this place a battle and eat kind of place? Scale down the cakes a bit, make it more of a sit-in place so you’ll have time to battle—hire a couple waiters who can battle so that people have to face multiple people before getting to you. Like a mini-gym. It’s not unheard of.” Green realizes he’s begun rambling again. “Sorry, it’s your place. You should do you.”

“I want to,” Red says, wistful. “But…” His eyes sweep over the bakery and so do Green’s.

“There’s no space,” Green concludes. Red nods.

“We’re trying to relocate. Saving money. Leaf wants to battle, too.”

Green hmms. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the badges. You should be proud of it, you know?”

“Didn’t want it to change things.”

Green considers that. If he’d found out Red had all eight gym badges the first day it met, would it have changed things? Yes, Green admits, it would have. He’d be more awed. Intimidated. But—

“It doesn’t change things now.” Green would call his smile fond, if he was a sap.

Red ducks his head. Green would call  _ his _ smile shy if he was, again, a total sap. He takes Red in: his mussy air, dusted with flour; the twinkle of amusement highlighting scarlet red irises; the ridges of his hands, which frame his face as he puts his chin on his palm, examining Green curiously.

He feels like he’s suspended in time in that one breath, the moment he and Red exchange gazes. His breath hitches in his throat. 

If he was more of a sap, more of a romantic—it might be the moment he fell in love.

Green could say anything. ‘I love you,’ for instance. The most fitting words, considering his most recent revelation. Or ‘What are we?’ That’d give him some clarification, at least. It’s the next most practical choice.

But instead, he says this:

“I’m moving to Kanto in two weeks.”

A silence settles over them. Red’s stare is suffocating. Something in his face shifts. Green’s heart does a little flutter because, well, he was honestly expecting indifference. “It’s not permanent, just for a year, I don’t know if you care—”

“I care,” Red cuts in, voice firm. Green’s heart, the traitor, does the flutter thing again.

“Oh—well, yeah, I thought I’d tell you instead of up and leaving. ‘Cause, you know, we’ve spent a lot of time together lately and it’d be a shitty thing to do if I left without saying anything. And also, so you don’t call the police,”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Thanks, smartass.”

Red’s eyes burn. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’m not dying,” Green says, trying to ignore the way his chest  _ jerks _ at that. Arceus, does Red even know the effect his words have, even though they’re so few and far in between? Maybe that makes it hit even harder. “For the record, I’ll miss you too.”

Red smiles, and it doesn’t reach his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the end of the line! Sorry for the long wait, this was written ages ago but I haven't had time to edit and upload it because of how busy I've been (internship applications, yo...) but thanks for your patience and all the love I've been getting!
> 
> Particularly, special shout-out to LaserBobCat who drew amazingly cute fanart for this fic that I'd frame and put on my living room wall if I could???? Please check it out (and the rest of their stuff as well, esp the most recent mononoke AU stuff it's great), and the fanart in question has also been included at the end of the chapter :) :  
> https://laserbobcat.tumblr.com/post/186752206375/so-i-read-this-super-nice-fanfiction-in-wich
> 
> Again, thanks so much for all your support, for a fic that wasn't supposed to be much but ended with over 100 kudos, so many comments, and even a fanart to boot? This fandom is so loving and I appreciate every one of you all! And now: the end.

“I don’t know, Daisy,” Green says for what seems like the millionth time, trying to prevent agitation from creeping into his voice.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t even talk about it with him!” says Daisy’s tinny voice from the phone. “Well, you could make a long-distance relationship work. That’s what Bill and I did when I was in college, you know that.”

“But you guys weren’t a whole  _ region _ away. Plus, you guys are actually functional. I’m a mess.”

“You are,” Daisy affirms. Not the most encouraging sister in the world. “I can’t believe you didn’t  _ tell him.” _

“This isn’t some cheesy romantic comedy! I’m not going to come in all dramatic and just  _ say _ ‘I love you!’”

“It gets the job done, doesn’t it? You should count yourself lucky that the media hasn’t gotten word of this yet. ‘Green Oak, most hopeless person ever.’”

“It’s not  _ that _ bad,” Green says, wounded.

“It is! What are you going to do, leave it ambiguous for a year and then expect to come back to Hoenn and start right off where you left it? People change in a year. You have to tell him.”

“We already covered this.” There’s no stopping the agitation now, his tone is becoming  _ drenched _ in it. “What good is telling him going to do?”

“I said it once and I’ll say it again:  _ long. Distance.” _

“And  _ I’m _ saying that not everyone has an idyllic long distance experience like you, sis! And if it goes bad…” A pause. “I can’t. I… I really like him. And if I lose him because I’m bad at time management or if I get swamped with contest work…”

“Aw, Green,” Daisy says, tone growing soft. “You don’t know that.”

“But I want to be  _ sure.” _

Daisy pauses. Green can practically hear the gears turning in her head. “What about this?”

And she tells him. And the gears in Green’s head starts spinning too.

“It could work,” he decides after another twenty minutes go by, just bouncing ideas back and forth. “This could work.”

“Aw Green, you sound so happy!”

“Shut  _ up.” _

Daisy giggles. “But really,” she says tenderly. “I’m happy for you. That you have someone in your life.”

“It’s all thanks to you, sis.”

“You can thank me at the wedding! You and Red are both invited for sure. We’re thinking about commissioning Red for the cake, actually—Bill and I are big fans.”

“And if it has to be delivered from Hoenn?”

“Then we’ll have our wedding in Hoenn! I wouldn’t mind getting married in Lavaridge Town, the mud massages are to  _ die _ for.”

“Gramps wouldn’t be happy about that.”

There’s a silence over the phone. “Yeah, he definitely wouldn’t,” she says, slowly. “But who cares, it’s my wedding.” Another pause. “You’ve grown so much, Green.”

Something swells inside Green at the pure amount of affection in her tone. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

“I hope you stay with him. He’s a good influence on you.”

“Besides dumping an unholy amount of sweets for me to eat.” Green snorts. 

Daisy laughs. “He has good intentions. Good luck, Green. Love you.”

“Love you too, sis.” Green gulps. “Thanks. For, you know.”

“Don’t mention it. Just don’t forget I’m the best sister you’ve ever had!”

“The only sister,” he corrects, but the line is already dead. But the smile on his face stays for a good while.

* * *

Three days before he leaves, he gets Red dinner at one of the fancier restaurants in town. He cackles through the whole ordeal, watching how stuffy and uncomfortable Red looks under the suffocating culture of fine dining. Red, however, gets his revenge when Green spills the wine all over his brand-name white polo shirt.

“You’re a jackass,” Green mutters, but takes Red’s vest when it’s offered to him. 

They go for a walk in the city, in one of the more residential neighborhoods, where the only thing that populates the sidewalks at 8 PM on a Wednesday evening are alley Zigzagoon making their usual trash can scavenging routes. As they walk—Green talking about everything and nothing (mainly, how it’s ridiculous that Wallace had such a hard time in the final round of the Hyper Rank contest broadcasted today) and Red listening on with the occasional nod—the concrete paths fade into dirt-trodden roads as it winds into a local park. Green and Red are probably way over the age of the average visitor, as the park is littered with stuff that wouldn’t be out-of-place in an elementary school playground, but the attractions are not the main event.

Green leads Red deeper into the park until the glimmering lights of suburban life are far past them, where the trees thicken until it’s a forest, where the ground is covered with a carpet of moss, hardly touched by human shoes. 

“Is this a kidnapping?” Red asks somewhere along the way. 

“Yeah, as if I don’t have better things to do with my time,” Green scoffs. “Just hang on, you’ll see.”

It’s not long before they reach a clearing. They’re far into Route 110 at this point, and the sounds of the wildlife prove it—the local pokemon are loud and abundant in a way they’d never be if they were anywhere near the city. In the middle of the clearing is a pond—not too big, but big enough that swarms of Illumise and Volbeat crowd the sky with their lights and chirps, a whole constellation of them reflected onto the calm, clear waters of the pond. 

Red gapes, eyes wide, trying to soak in as much of the sight as possible. “It’s their breeding grounds,” Green whispers, hoping to not disturb the scene. “They only swarm in the summer and this is their mating season so—I thought you’d like it.”

Red, still staring at the sky, suddenly reaches over and grasps Green’s hand. Green gasps, almost pulling away—but at the last second relaxes and lets his fingers fall naturally between Red’s. And they stay like that for a while, hands clasped together, watching the pokemon draw their paths of light in the air. 

Well, Red is watching them. Green is watching him: the way the lights dance in Red’s hair and face, highlighting certain areas, almost contorting it, as if he’s looking at Red from multiple angles at once. He thinks he could look forever.

“Hey,” Green whispers. “Can I ask you something?”

Red swivels his head at him as if snapped out of a trance. Looking a little…if Green had to guess, worried—weirdly enough. Green takes a breath.

“WillyoumovetoKantowithme?”

Red blinks.

“Will you move to Kanto? With me?” Green repeats, forcing himself to be slower even though his heart is racing past the speed of light, at this point. “I pulled some strings and got you a place, a bigger bakery—well, more like it’s currently separate part of the contest hall we’re building in Cerulean, but I got permission to turn it into a bakery. There’s a ton of space, big enough so that you could have pokemon battles, like you wanted. And I know people who know people, they could get you an apartment for both you and Leaf, if she was fine with it.”

“I know it’s a lot, asking you to uproot your whole life and move a region over,” Green continues, unable to look at Red’s face entirely, “But I thought this could be a good opportunity for you to expand. I’m getting a chance to chase my dream, so it’s only fair that you should, too.”

“I didn’t earn it,” Red murmurs.

“Bullshit.” Anger flares within Green. “We both know you’ve been working your ass off to make this happen. And you’re going to have to do the same thing in Kanto. It’s not a handout, and I wouldn’t be making you the offer if I knew you couldn’t handle it.

“You called me brave, once. Well, you know what’s brave? Saying no when everyone, maybe even society itself, is pushing you towards one path. Deciding your own happiness.  _ That’s _ brave. I’m not trying to make the choice for you, but if you’re going to turn it down, make sure it’s because  _ you _ don’t want to, not because of some bullshit argument like ‘you don’t deserve it—’”

And then Red is kissing him.

It’s not a violent kiss, but it’s tinged with desperation from the small things: the way Red’s mouth pushes insistently on his, how his fingers are curled tight into the collar of Green’s stained white polo shirt. As if he’s wanted this for a long time.

And Green—Green kisses back.

* * *

They’ve somehow ended up on the forest floor, Red above Green. Green stares at the blades of grass stuck on Red’s bangs, threatening to fall on his face at any moment. “So, is that a yes?”

Red rolls his eyes. “It’s a no.”

“Ass.” And Green leans up to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just bc there was some confusion: Red is just teasing at the end, they will be leading a happy, sweet, stupidly cute life in Kanto together :) no long distance hereeeee
> 
> Thanks for reading till the end, this fic was a pleasure to write and all your encouragement made it so worth it~


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